


A bee

by RatTale



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: First Person, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sweet, rambling thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:36:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18758422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatTale/pseuds/RatTale
Summary: Holmes is waiting for Watson's return and realises something.





	A bee

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Пчела](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18998500) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



It is with striking clarity that I learn that I love John Watson.

 

The thought comes to me softly, gently as I sit warm in my dressing gown, wrapped up by smoke and thought and comfortable in my old chair. It crawls up through curling tendrils of wisps, to nestle its earth shattering realisation like a feather that drops on unstable dynamite.

 

It blows, in a way, the smoke to nothing. Leaving my thoughts crystal clear and smooth like ice, nothing to hide and no warmth to be found. There is a horrible moment where my lungs freeze, and my hands tighten into vices. I have, always been alone, but never before had that loneliness felt more piercing. Never before had I felt it pressing so tightly to my chest, until breath became a chore I suddenly, fervently had no desire to complete.

 

When did this happen? Is the first question I ask, and with the smoke dissipated and realisation so clear it is easy to pick out the many days when it happened. There isn't only one. There couldn't be. I could not have seen him smile at the song of a rare bird and his fiery courage in the heat of battle in a single day. There were numerous such moments, all set in striking backdrops from the wide open countryside where he wore the hills and valleys like a coat, to the sewers beneath the city.

 

There were so many, there would never be enough hours to count them all. And today had brought one more such striking moment I would keep safe in my memory.

 

He had saved a bee.

 

Our morning stroll had taken us through the park, close to the pond where a few ducks were splashing in the sun. Spring hung thick in the morning air, budding flowers along with budding romances filled the park to the brim. I quite remember my cynicism, these romances, like those flowers would one day whither and die.

 

I'd turned to make such a comment to Watson, when I realised he was no longer next to me, instead he'd knelt next to the pond. I'd watched, oddly stricken, as Watson carefully scooped up the small splashing insect with a piece of paper, to gently deposit the creature onto a nearby flower. Compassion flowed in his veins like music did in mine. To be surprised at his kindness should be unthinkable, and yet there I stood almost dumbstruck by it.

 

I do not believe there could ever a point in which he ceased to amaze me.

 

When he spotted me he'd smiled and quickly returned to my side, explaining that he couldn't let the poor thing drown. They were such caring little helpers, they deserved a little help as well.

 

A thunderstorm has rolled in, and Watson has stalked out into those cold streets to help one of his patients. The thought makes my heart swell and ache. His compassion humbles me, but I loathe to give him up for anything. I now know why, and to deal with it would be a new challenge.

 

But for now the earth shattering realisation has calmed, leaving me calmer, hands now just wet not shaking. There is no one to share this with, no friend or creature I may confide in. And he shall never know. My pipe smoke fills the room, a strange attempt to cover up my emotions once more with a veil, now that I know they are there, I shall make certain to never reveal them to anyone, lease of all Watson.

 

I have many doubts on whether he would react kindly to such a confession.

 

But even now as I recline in my chair, (watching the clock, waiting for his to return with eager anticipation) I cannot help but think of his sweetness that morning, of his proud smile, and how fiercely he'd blushed when he realised I saw him helping that bee.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I accidentally stepped on a bee, so I wrote this.


End file.
